


Paint

by Aroihkin



Series: Veilfire Bones [2]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 11:44:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3133217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aroihkin/pseuds/Aroihkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas finds he has an audience while painting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint

**Author's Note:**

> **Original prompt:** [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/12149.html?thread=47631733#t47631733).
> 
> Solas/fLavellan, fingerpainting  
> (Anonymous)  
> 2014-12-26 11:44 pm (local) Track This  
> gimme something cute with painting. maybe she watches him while he paints. maybe she tries to help! maybe she's awesome. maybe she's really bad, so he makes her little paint by number sections. idk man. make it cute. bonus points for small paint fight leading to kissy faces (or more).

Solas was quite aware of the hawk-like stare fixed on his work -- and on him -- from the railing one floor above. He half-turned, after several long minutes had gone by, and waved his trowel up at the taciturn elven warrior, the gesture meant to be inviting. "Did you wish something of me?" he asked, gentle voice echoing against the plain walls around him, muted and amplified at the same time.

"I was just watching," Lavellan frowned, very slightly, and pulled away from the railing, clearly taking his attempt to coax her down a different way entirely, "sorry."

"It did not bother me," he called out, but it was too late; she was too quick on her feet; Solas heard the dull clunk of the door to the outside walkway close, as did the caged birds high overhead, who fluttered and chattered louder for a moment at the sound. The mage stared up at the railing until after the birds had calmed, and then turned back to his work, a slight frown tugging at the corner of his lips.

\- - - - -

The next time she came through the edge of his office on the way up the stairs, her head down and pace fast, Solas was waiting for her. "--Inquisitor, a moment," he pitched his voice to sound serious, knowing it would halt her. And it did, Lavellan coming to a stop and then turning to look at him. She was wary, like a stray dog, and he found it unsettling in another with ears like his own. "I was not bothered earlier, by your staring," Solas softened his voice further, just in case. "When you next have the time, perhaps you will join me?"

Lavellan blinked once, slowly. "I'm not an artist," she noted, her ruined voice grating over the words. Someday, he'd ask what had happened to make it sound that way, but he had enough tact not to just yet.

"You could learn," Solas returned, "surely? Or just keep me company, when you are not busy." There was sometimes a lot of down time, while waiting for the results of some action or other taken in the War Room.

"Not good company, either," the warrior frowned, very slightly, but Solas had been dealing with her enough by now to know it was at herself more than it was at him.

"Ah, a skill we could both learn," he hazarded a gentle tease, and was rewarded by the frown fading away. It was replaced by a moment of thought crossing her scarred face, before Lavellan nodded, once.

She didn't linger, that time.

\- - - - -

"Why wolves?" that rough voice startled him, some weeks later. Again, she was above him at the railing when Solas turned to find her. His jump had been noted; Lavellan frowned again, and once more muttered, "sorry," though he couldn't actually hear it at this distance.

"Come down, so we can talk easier," Solas suggested, relieved she hadn't simply fled again. He watched with slightly-raised eyebrows as she climbed over the railing and swung herself down and in, landing on the scaffolding against the wall of his office, dust stirring up from the impact of her heavy plate boots. She then grabbed onto the ladder from the scaffold and slid the rest of the way down like this approach to 'come down' was perfectly natural.

And he knew he shouldn't have been surprised; he did, after all, follow her out on most excursions. Lavellan was often climbing up onto something or down off of it, depending on the context. She liked to be on high ground, but sometimes things happened lower. Still, it was another thing to see her ignoring the stairs here, inside Skyhold.

He shook off the thought, returning to her question as he turned to regard his work. She was right, there were wolves in it, though he wasn't about to explain why. "Why not?" he asked, "Do you harbor a dislike for the creatures?" A simple deflection, but he was also curious.

"No," Lavellan approached, the heavy leather of her coat settling around her as she went still beside him. Josephine had yet to convince her to wear 'civilized clothing' around the fortress; Lavellan favored armor in all circumstances. "Just curious. See more goats this high up than wolves."

"Ah," Solas felt amusement bubbling into his voice, and smiled as he spoke, "you feel the walls have not had their fill of goat?"

Lavellan rolled her eyes, "Good point," she noted, the tone beneath the ruined rasp of her voice was dry, as her humor always was, and faintly sardonic, "just don't smear yourself in mud and paint and start throwing wolves _at_ the walls."

"That would be counterproductive," Solas agreed in kind, "and I have no wish to be banished to Tevinter. Here," he held out the small trowel in his hand, loaded with gray-colored plaster, "give it a try."

The warrior frowned at the trowel as though he held out a live, hissing snake. "I don't..."

"I will outline an area," Solas offered, shifting his grip to work with it again instead, and turning to do as he described. On a whim, he decided to outline a large swath of the body of one of the wolves, since they were a curiosity to her, "and then you can fill it in." The outline was the trickiest part anyway, especially when it was one color going on top of another in such a way that it needed to slightly blend; a highlight.

He spent the next several minutes showing her how it was actually done, scraping the thick plaster on in short passes and smoothing it as he went. She balked again when he tried to hand the tools to her to try, but a patient smile and even more patient bit of silence won her over. Armored fingers wrapped stiffly around the trowel's handle, and she accepted the hawk -- the flat board that held more plaster waiting to be applied -- as though it was actually made of fine glass. Solas stepped back a little to watch, pleased to be teaching such an old, forgotten part of their shared culture.

In truth, Lavellan wasn't _terrible_ at it, despite having never done it before. But it was very clearly a struggle, and his pleasure at teaching slowly morphed into concern at the way she struggled to hold onto the thin handle of the trowel. He had noticed only peripherally, while studying the Anchor back at the beginning, that her hands were... damaged. Bones crooked, joints swollen, tendons too tight. There were more important things to concern himself with at the time, and since then... well, she had no problem holding her weapon and shield, so it hadn't come up. But the reminder in the here and now was not something he would willfully choose to ignore.

Solas gently took the trowel and hawk from her after she nearly dropped both, and smoothly took over. "May I ask what was done to your hands?" he asked directly, watching his work instead of her.

"Humans," Lavellan grunted, as wordy as ever. He was losing her to her taciturn shell.

"Did your clan not protect you?" Solas paused, trowel held mid-air, and glanced over at her. "How did humans--"

"Sometimes," the scarred warrior interrupted him, staring at the wolf on the wall instead of the one beside her, "it's not about who tries to protect you. Sometimes, it's about who you try to protect."

"...I see," Solas doubted he would get much more out of her on the topic, so he dropped it, for now. He resumed painting with his plaster, though he could feel her gaze drifting over to him and then lingering there. When it had remained for several long moments, he paused again and shot her a questioning look. "What is it? I hope I have not offended you with my questions..."

"You..." Lavellan startled him by reaching up with one gauntlet-encased hand to touch his cheek with several cool metal fingertips. "You've got some plaster on your face."

"Have I?" Solas felt a smile tug at his lips.

The warrior gave a soft, amused snort and lowered her hand. "Well, you do _now_ , at any rate."

It was a clever deflection of her own, and one he was quite willing to play along with. Solas' smile sharpened a little, and he shook his head before setting his tools aside on the little folding table he used for this. He scooped up a bit of plaster on one fingertip and -- quick as a striking snake -- ran it down the crooked, bent, many-times-broken bridge of her beak-like nose. "It seems you do, as well."

Lavellan barked out a harsh, surprised laugh and batted his hand away from her nose. Too late, of course; there was a streak of light gray plaster running the length, contrasting with her darker skin. "Fair enough," she conceded, amusement plain to see. She turned and strode for an exit, but not before adding, "Last one to wash it off, wins."

"I accept your challenge!" Solas called after her, his smile remaining long after she'd gone.


End file.
